Page 11 of To Cage a Wild Bird (Divided Fates #1)

“What are you doing here?”

We spoke the words simultaneously, and I stepped back toward the door.

Vale glanced up at the corner of the room before answering, and when I followed his gaze, I caught sight of yet another camera.

He cleared his throat, looking away from me. “I work here.”

The nausea I’d experienced the night before returned with new intensity. The only thing worse than kissing a patrol guard

was kissing one of Endlock’s guards.

Which begged the question of what a guard from Endlock had been doing in the Lower Sector the night before, at Vern’s of all

places. He’d said he was indebted to Eris, but why would someone who worked at Endlock be mixed up with a Collective leader?

“Raven Thorne,” he read from his clipboard, interrupting my thoughts. His lip curled. “You’re a criminal. A rebel .”

I shrugged, not wanting to mention his own connection to the rebels and give up the information to anyone who might be watching us through the camera. Not when I might

be able to use it to my advantage.

Vale took a deep breath and pinched his lips together. After a long silence, he cleared his throat, shifting his attention

back to the contraption on the counter.

“Sit,” he ordered, his voice a deep growl.

My eyes darted to the lone seat in the room—a gray metal chair bolted to the floor, the armrests and legs equipped with restraints

clearly meant for securing limbs.

Next to the chair, a silver bucket sat on the floor, filled to the brim with water.

I rolled my shoulders back, my head warring between following his orders and staying as far from the restraints as possible.

Landis had been killed for defying the guards and trying to escape, but Vale... I didn’t think he’d kill me. Not when he

hadn’t bothered to pull his gun on me when I’d punched him the night before. Not when the memory of our lips touching was

still fresh.

“Looks inviting.” I cleared my throat. “But I’d prefer to stand.”

His posture grew impossibly rigid, and he grumbled something unintelligible under his breath but didn’t answer me. He didn’t

even turn around to meet my gaze. Instead, one hand fell to his outer thigh, and he patted his holstered gun in warning.

I jolted, internally cursing myself for being so stupid. He was a guard. Of course he’d shoot me without blinking.

But.

He hadn’t shot me. He’d only threatened to. And while that wasn’t great for me, it was certainly a step up from some of the other guards I’d encountered.

“You know what? It’s been a long day,” I said, sitting without further argument. Crossing my legs at the ankles and resting

my hands in my lap, I maintained as much distance from the restraints as possible. The cool metal of the chair pressed into

my skin, raising goose bumps along my arms.

I felt utterly exposed in the skimpy medical gown that barely grazed my thighs.

“What do you know about Endlock?” Vale asked.

I looked up to find him leaning against the counter, facing me again, his jaw clenched and his arms crossed over his chest.

His gun rested safely in its holster on his thigh.

“I know that citizens pay to hunt inmates here. For entertainment,” I bit out. “And that you let them.”

His eyes shuttered. “Citizens pay to hunt criminals here,” he corrected me. “For the betterment of Dividium.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he spoke.

“So you say.”

“Do you know what life is like for inmates here?”

“Wretched, I’d expect.”

He nodded. “For some of them. But there are rankings—Lower, Middle, and Upper, just like in Dividium. All inmates, with a

few exceptions, start at the Lower level. Cramped quarters. Shit food. Low price on your heads.”

With a few exceptions. I rolled my eyes. He meant people from the Upper Sector, like Torin, who’d probably have wealthy hunters lining up, willing

to pay any price to hunt him.

“You’re really selling it,” I managed through gritted teeth. He clearly enjoyed rubbing reality in my face. I wondered if

he was embarrassed now that he realized he’d been associating with a true criminal. A rebel.

“If you do well in the hunts, you can move up. Moving up means more food. More freedom—a higher cost to hunt you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Do you think you’ll still have a chance of crawling into my bed if I make it to the

Upper level? Is that the freedom you’re referencing? Because I’d die before I touched you again.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth as soon as the words escaped. Fuck. I hadn’t meant to get that heated. I’d pushed too far.

But Vale didn’t so much as flinch at the venom in my voice. “Don’t flatter yourself, inmate. I’m required to go over the logistics

with each new arrival.”

Oh.

My cheeks flamed.

“Vale!” a muffled voice called through the door.

“What?” Vale turned from me.

The door opened a crack.

“Larch wants to know what the holdup is.” The new guard’s eyes flitted over to me. He opened the door wider, and a wolfish

whistle slipped past his lips. “Must be because you’re having some extra fun with this one, eh?”

The guard had a gray tint to his skin, like many of the drunks who frequented Vern’s.

He was shorter than me, maybe up to my nose if I was standing at my full height, and his stomach strained against the buttons of his uniform shirt.

He had a toothpick dangling from his cracked lips, and a single tooth hung from a chain around his neck.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mort. I would never touch an inmate,” Vale snapped.

“Might as well have a good time with her before the other prisoners rip her apart.” Mort shrugged, and a chill snaked down

my spine at his words.

“Why would they rip her apart?” Vale asked, arching a brow in my direction.

“Because she’s a bounty hunter ,” Mort said, chewing his toothpick. “She’s put more than a few of them in here. I’d want a piece of her if she did that to

me.”

Vale’s eyes snapped to mine with something like confusion in his gaze. I met him with a hard stare, unflinching, daring him

to judge me.

“Is that true?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. He scanned the clipboard, and I knew the moment he read the evidence. His

eyes narrowed. “Must have been a cover to keep the guards from realizing you were a rebel all these years.”

“Why don’t you come a little closer?” I purred, batting my lashes. “Find out for yourself.”

And then something hit my face, so hard that my head snapped to the side and my teeth cut into my cheek.

I blinked, stars swimming in my vision as I looked up to see that it was Mort who’d delivered the blow. Not Vale.

“Watch your mouth when you’re talking to your superior,” Mort spat, the veins in his neck bulging.

I shut my eyes and blew out a long breath through my nose to keep from snapping back at him.

Vale took a half step forward and then stopped, his hands forming fists at his sides and his gaze hard and impassive. Ice-cold.

“Give her a uniform, Mort.”

An unnerving glint flashed in Mort’s yellowing eyes. “But you haven’t given her an identifier yet.”

“An identifier?” My brows drew together. “What do I get, a name tag?”

“I can do it.” Mort took a step toward the counter, the fluorescent lights making the back of his bald head appear shiny.

“Hyde and I have a bet going to see which one of us can leave it on the skin the longest without burning through to the bone.

He’s not off to the best start—the last inmate he marked passed out and had to be sent to the infirmary.”

Mort grinned at the memory, and I swallowed, trying to figure out what horror they were about to inflict on me that had the

potential to burn through to my bones . I was starting to wonder how anyone survived Endlock’s check-in process to even make it to a hunt.

“No,” Vale snapped, his eyes turning wild for a moment. He cleared his throat at the startled look on Mort’s face. “No. I’ll

do it.”

He sauntered over to me, bending down, his eyes inches from mine. They’d looked so warm and inviting when I’d met him, but

now I realized they were a honeyed trap. He didn’t meet my gaze as he positioned my trembling arms, one at a time, on the

armrests, strapping them tightly with my palms face up. His skin was a shock of warmth against mine, nearly feverish against

my chilled skin.

He was close enough that I could’ve spat in his face, but I didn’t fight him. If I died, Jed would be left to face the hunters

alone.

Vale moved to my ankles, repeating the same motions until I had no hope of escaping from the bolted-down chair.

“It doesn’t matter what your name was before you got here,” Vale declared, voice frigid. Almost mechanical. “Your new name

is 224. It will remain your name until you die. And then a new inmate will come through, and your name will pass on to them.”

“How sentimental,” I responded. “And do you plan to tattoo my new name onto my skin? If that’s the case, at least let me have

some input on the stylistic elements.”

If I kept talking, maybe I could ignore the fear coursing through my veins.

“No. I won’t be tattooing you,” Vale murmured. But the noticeable pause before his response had my hair standing on end.

He returned to the counter and retrieved the device he’d been tinkering with earlier.

It was long and thin, tapering toward the top, while its base, embellished with the number 224, was flat. The instrument resembled

an oversized stamp, save for a switch on its side.

“What is that?” I asked, my voice wavering, as I jerked my wrist to test the chair’s bindings. I couldn’t budge an inch.

With a flick of his thumb, Vale flipped the switch, and the digits on the device morphed from an inky black to a blistering,

radiant orange.

“It’s a branding iron,” Mort announced, a grotesque grin stretching across his face.

Vale turned to face me. Without a hint of hesitation, he brought the searing device down onto my forearm.

And then my skin was on fire.